In An Age Before – Part 307

Now in the Firien Wood at the foot of Amon Anwar there stood the garrison whose duty 'twas to maintain the alarm beacon furthest from Minas Tirith and guard the Great West Road where it crossed into Anórien. A hundred soldiers of Gondor manned that garrison, with an additional cavalry contingent of fifty knights and an attached company of fifty Rangers. The normal compliment would have been three score total, for Rohan was an ally and friend, but as the South Kingdom was at war, the lord steward had strengthened their presence with so many Men as he could spare.

All of them knew that if Dunlending and Corsair hosts came down the road, they would not be able to hold. They would light the beacon to spread the alarm of invasion ere withdrawing east to join the next beacon garrison at Calenhad, harrying and delaying the enemy advance so much as they could.

Behind the retreating knights and infantry, the Rangers would remain in the Firien Wood. And though many might deem that tactic suicidal, the Rangers of Gondor would be fighting in their favored element. Within the familiar, dense, hilly forest, they would slay many times their own count, delaying and forcing the enemies of Gondor to buy their lives dearly with much blood. At the last, if their resistance proved futile against the horde of foes, they would slip away, climbing the vale east of Amon Anwar ere disappearing into the Ered Nimrais by seldom-traveled trails.

Towards the start of Cermië, a company of one hundred Dunlendings arrived on the road 'nigh the border, and the Rangers approached through the wood to take their measure. After watching them carefully for a couple days, they reported to their captain.

"Having come hither 'cross all of Rohan, they do 'naught," a scout said, shaking his head in confusion.

"Aye, they have set a camp, and a poor one at that, right on the border, but make no move to advance further," said a second Ranger.

"One hundred soldiers are hardly an invasion force," Captain Beleg said thoughtfully. "They are a token of occupation only, I wager. Have they moved into the wood?"

"Nay, my lord captain," the first scout replied, "if 'aught, they seem to fear it."

"They encamp 'cross the road and send no hunting parties 'neath the trees," the second added.

"Strange," the captain said, "for the hunting is far better in the woods."

The Rangers nodded in agreement. They took their prey in the Firien Wood or on the slopes of Amon Anwar and seldom bothered to hunt in the flatlands save for waterfowl in season.

"Maintain the watch," Beleg finally decided. "Shoot any that move into the woods where they shall be harder to fight. Nor shall we allow them to sully the Hill of Awe. They are enemies of Rohan, and therefore they are enemies of Gondor."

For the next five months, the Dunlendings maintained their presence on the road and in a narrow strip of land to the north where they dug single trench shelter. This was long, shallow, and covered with fallen branches. Down its length, several hearths produced thin columns of smoke. The invaders had no notion that they were closely watched or that any who trod upon the road did so at arrow point.

Toward the end of Narquelië, the snow began to fall. From the cover of the trees, the Rangers watched the Dunlendings shivering, starving, and finally beginning to die.

"What wisdom sends soldiers forth without succor or support?" one Ranger asked another.

The second Ranger shrugged and could only offer, "They are barbarians. Perhaps they have no wisdom in the ways of war?"

"Five months they have camped hither without relief or resupply. Surely the winter shall slay them." Despite the war, the Gondorim were resupplied from Minas Tirith e'ery three fortnights.

"Then save thine arrows," the second Ranger replied whilst breathing through a scarf so that no plume of vapor gave away his presence. "I doubt any shall survive to greet Mettarë."

By the end of Hísimë, one in three Dunlendings were dead of exposure, starvation, or sickness. The watching Rangers heard them coughing and saw body after body dragged from the shelter to be stacked in the snow for later burial.

A fortnight later, on 14 Ringarë, a roe deer stepped from the tree line and sniffed the air. A slight breeze blew down from the highlands at its back and so that the stench of the Dunlending camp came not to its nose. Even the thin wisps of wood smoke were blown away to the north. The doe attracted the attention of several starving invaders, for 'twas the largest prey animal they had seen in months.

Slowly, a hunger-weakened Man slipped from the shelter bearing a bow. A hunter and the best surviving shot amongst his company, he used what stealth he possessed and prayed that his growling stomach would not give him away. Finally, he cleared the trench in which his comrades huddled and set an arrow to his bowstring. He was about to rise and take aim when the doe dropped, a shaft loosed from cover to the side piercing its heart. It lay still and did not even struggle.

Astonished, the Dunlending hunter stood, surveying the woods 'cross the road. Then, from 'round the boles of trees and out of shadows, a company of six Men in hooded cloaks of mixed greens revealed themselves. Heavy leather gauntlets covered their hands and tall boots sheathed their feet. They moved slowly and with assurance. Each held a bow with an arrow on the string.

One came to the deer and lifted it onto his shoulders. He cast a warning glance to the lone hunter and then walked away into the trees. In a dozen strides, he was invisible. When the hunter shifted his eyes back, the other five had vanished as well. The woods lay still and silent, and save for a splash of blood on the snow, the whole incident might have been 'naught but a hunger dream.

The hunter returned his arrow to his quiver and sat down in the snow by the side of the road. 'Twas not the first time prey had escaped him. Yet he was so hungry and so desperate, and the doe had been the only animal larger than a hare that he had seen in weeks. At twenty yards, the shot would have been little challenge. He could almost taste the venison.

It seemed this experience was but the last of many to make him believe that the very land of Rohan was set against him. For himself and those with him, he deemed their cause hopeless. They were doomed. He set his face in his hands and wept. A fortnight later, he had starved to death.

Mettarë and Yestarë passed and the year 2759 began. The cold was breathtaking and the snow had deepened. Captain Beleg ordered the watches curtailed to no more than three hours. He would not risk his soldiers' wellbeing by leave the rotations out longer. Now Men returned and stood by the fire 'til the ice from their breath that accumulated in their scarves had melted lest they rip their beards from their faces whilst trying to remove them. By the Rangers' count, not but 23 Dunlendings remained.

On 9 Narvinyë, the Ranger patrol returned to the barrack and they were shaken by what they had seen. Soon, comments of outrage and disgust filled the mess hall. Called to make his report, the lead Ranger spoke to the captain.

"What cause has upset thy company so, Sodron¹?" Captain Beleg asked the sergeant. The Rangers had e'er been the most disciplined and calm of all his troops. ¹(Sodron, Committed One = sod(committed) + -ron(masc. agent suff., n. on n.) Sindarin)

"My lord captain, we have marked atrocities unexpected of Men, even enemies. Aforetime, we had seen such only amongst Yrch," Sodron said. He was seething with rage as he clasped his sword hilt in a white-knuckled grip and lust of battle flickered in his eyes. The captain raised a brow in question, bidding him continue. "My lord, they have taken their own dead…and eaten of their flesh."

And now Beleg stared at the Ranger in astonishment and horror. In three score and eight years in his steward's service, he had only e'er heard of Orcs doing such aforetime, ne'er Men; not the Corsairs, the Haradrim, or the Easterlings who had been Gondor's foes for an Age.

Soft and deadly now, the captain ordered, "Speak thy rede, sergeant. Tell me of all thou hast seen."

Deep, calming breaths the sergeant took ere he continued, and gradually he calmed. When he spoke, his voice was that of a dispassionate soldier and his tale seemed all the more horrifying for it.

"My lord, we took up our watch o'er the Dunlending camp at the noon hour. After another hour and a half, we marked five leaving their trench shelter carrying the body of a sixth who was deceased. They spent a short time in discussion, though we were too far to hear their words. Then, three gathered wood and kindled a fire whilst the other two removed the dead one's trousers.

They carved away the flesh from his thighs. His belly too they opened, and from it took his liver. All these they roasted, and after a while, called forth the rest of their company who now number fourteen. With them, they shared the meat of their comrade and ate with gusto, and seemingly, no regret."

Sergeant Sodron lapsed into silence, recalling the stench and looking as if he was stricken ill. Captain Beleg took a deep breath, but now 'twas his hands that were fisted, white-knuckled as they pressed upon the edge of his desk, and his anger shown in his eyes.

Blasphemy! 'Tis blasphemy against the One that they do. Better they should starve and keep their souls rather than lose both body and soul to the winter and the Shadow. For all that they are enemies, they are Men still, Beleg thought.

I reckon that by my decision to let them be, I have brought them to this pass through privation and despondence. Yet my charge is to guard Anórien and hold the road…and they ne'er moved to attack Gondor. Still, I should have ordered their slaughter in Cerm. They would have died with the honor of warriors. Alas, the perfection of hindsight.

"Come, sergeant, I am summoning the garrison to council," Captain Beleg said, and then he led Sodron from his office.

Once they reached the mess hall, they spread word that all soldiers posted to Amon Anwar save the beacon detail were to meet. By then, rumors had spread and it took little time for them to gather. When they had all settled, Captain Beleg addressed the company, for there were the requirements of duty as well as their visceral reactions to consider.

"By now, I wager many of ye have heard somewhat of the transgressions the last Ranger detail espied in the enemy camp. 'Neath the duress of the cold and starvation that afflict them, they have undertaken the practice of cannibalism," he said so that the rumors would have credence. The angered murmuring of the troops made it clear that they had not all known aforetime.

"Now whilst this conduct is deemed an abomination amongst us, our steward has tasked this garrison with maintaining the beacon, keeping watch upon the road, and thwarting any attempts at invasion. Thus far, the Dunlendings have remained 'cross the border in Rohan, and so our orders have not dictated that actions be taken against them."

For a moment, silence held sway as the captain's words sank in, and then cries of protest came from the soldiers that their orders did not direct them to smite those who would embrace such a despicable affront to all decency. Captain Beleg nodded as his Men's sentiments were made clear. Instead of silencing them, he let them continue, airing their indignation and venting their frustration. When they trailed off at last, he continued.

"I cannot believe that our lord steward e'er considered the possibility that we would witness such corruption of spirit, or that his orders are intended to accept it. We are directed to take certain actions in certain cases as enumerated in his lordship's commands, yet we are not constrained from taking such actions as become necessary save that they countermand that with which we are lawfully tasked.

In this case, I believe that we may exceed our orders and move into the sovereign lands of Rohan to prosecute this evil…"

Ere he could continue, the room erupted in cheers and shouts of "Aye!" "Slay these savages!" and "Kill the barbarians!" Yet this time, Captain Beleg raised his hands for silence, and the Men quieted, for despite their passions, their respect for the chain of command was stronger.

"Hear me, soldiers of Gondor," he said, "for left unchecked, evil fosters evil and that legacy I shall not allow. The One gave dominion o'er Arda to His Children, to be held with respect and thanksgiving 'neath the Valar, honoring the land, the air, the sea, and their creatures. That we eat not of our own separates us from those creatures who know no better.

Yet from the minions of Morgoth and his servant Sauron, and from the Shadow that proceeds from them to demean all, such blasphemies are known. Their practice is fostered and accepted by those devoted to them, but this practice shall not begin anew here, on this day, upon the borders of our own realm, for such already passes in our neighboring realm of Mordor. We shall not suffer cannibals in the lands of our friends and allies. Nor shall we allow the Dunlendings to learn this practice from those hither who might one day return home after having embraced it. I wager that even amongst the Yrch, there was once a first that others followed."

When a vote was called to declare their acceptance or refusal to prosecute a measure beyond their orders, e'ery hand in the mess hall was raised. Each soldier was imagining the proliferation of an abominable practice that could leave their own homeland bracketed by cannibals, Yrch to the east and Men of Darkness to the west. 'Twas unthinkable to stand and let be.

"Knights to the road lest any flee," Captain Beleg ordered. "Rangers to the woods and Infantry with me."

"Well spoken, lord captain," Sergeant Sodron said when they were alone after the council was adjourned. "Think thou truly that such practices would spread?"

"I am reminded of the spread of other evils," Beleg solemnly replied. "Once upon a time a boy of ten in Minas Tirith grew to like filching pastries from a bakery in the Third Circle 'nigh his father's house. Soon, his friends joined him, a band of junior brigands with a taste for cakes. Of course they were caught, and sooner rather than later. After a sound thrashing and an apology to the baker, the boy's father volunteered him for mucking the stables at the army garrison in the Second Circle, and there he spent his hours after his lessons.

By thirteen, he was tending saddles and tack, by sixteen, he began to learn the duties of a knight's squire, and at eighteen, he joined the army as a Man at arms."

"What became of this onetime thief of baked goods?" Sodron asked, though he could guess.

"After four years' service, he wed the baker's second daughter. After three score and eight years, thou follow his orders," Beleg said with a grin. "Evil does foster evil and the greater the shame of the transgression, the harder the habit is to break. Come, sergeant, we have work to do."

The surviving Dunlendings numbered nineteen, all in poor physical condition. For an o'erwhelmingly favorable force ratio, the captain needed only three dozen soldiers, yet one aspect of command was an awareness of the morale of the troops. There was not a Man in his company who would favor being left behind.

The full complement of fifty Knights of Gondor waylaid the West Road at a distance of twenty yards from the border, a sufficient span in which to reach a full gallop on snowy pavement during a charge. Before them marched a block of ninety-six foot soldiers, (because a detail of four had the duty of manning the beacon), whilst in the woods 'cross the road, fifty Rangers took position to cover the Dunlending camp with their bows.

The infantry advanced to the bridge o'er the Glanhír that marked the border with Rohan, and for the first time crossed it into allied territory. Then Captain Beleg ordered their formation to spread north in triple ranks of thirty-two files width, leaving the road open for their cavalry. They stared 'cross thirty feet of snowy ground to a partially covered mound of dead, the remains of a butchered body and a cook fire, and the dark maw of the Dunlending's burrow whence came a fetid stench and a thin column of smoke.

They may as well be Yrch, cringing in their festering den, the captain thought. I have seen and smelt the like 'nigh Imlad Morgul.

"Come forth, Dunlendings!" Captain Beleg called out. "Ye have trespasses to answer for!"

At first, there was no answer, but after several moments, a ragged Man crawled from the covered trench. He was tall but scrawny, his hair wild, his beard long and unkempt, his clothing soiled and shabby and all too thin for the weather. At first, he said 'naught but merely stood shivering with arms wrapped 'round his torso, surveying the Gondorim arrayed before him. Then a coughing fit took him and for a while, he hacked and hawked ere spitting out a gobbet of phlegm. When he spoke, a rasping voice came from his lips.

"What've we done t'bring a fine capt'n an' so many soldiers? We've set no foot in Gondor," the Man said in a poorer dialect of the Common Speech, defiance writ upon his face.

"Nay, ye have not, else we would have met long ere this, but ye have offended powers greater than Gondor and this we shall not abide, whether in Anórien or in Rohan."

"We're at war! Edoras an' all the Eastfold's ours an' we'll do as we please."

"As ye have done and damned yourselves thereby," Captain Beleg said. "Mayhap thy folk are Orcs, cannibals that feed on their own. We count ye so and war or no, we shall smite ye for it."

"We starve! We're Men o' Dunland, not Orcs! Curse thee, well-fed Westman!"

"Many Men hunger, but none eat the flesh of their fellow Men. Yet an Orc eats the flesh of Man, Orc, Elf, or beast and counts them all the same. Perhaps ye were Men once," the captain said, gesturing to the butchered body, "but we see your deeds now."

"We've no choice!" the Dunlending cried out in exasperation, spreading his arms wide to encompass his pitiful camp and the pile of dead. By then, more of the Dunlendings had come forth, just as ragged as the first. They stood together in a gaggle, staring at the Dúnedain.

"For half a year, ye have had a choice…to leave," Beleg said.

"We leave an' Wulf kills us. We've no choice," he repeated, and the gathered Dunlendings silently nodded in agreement with his claim.

"Ye serve and die here for fear of Wulf, not for honor or love of lord and land?" Beleg asked.

The ragged Man and his ragged companions nodded 'aye'.

In years past, they had followed Freca because they had been forced to do so. Now they followed his son out of fear. No few amongst them were too young to know any other way.

Unlike the Gondorim or the Rohirrim, they had no real sense or love of country because Dunland was a region, not a realm. 'Twas home to many loosely related clans who spoke related dialects and practiced similar ways of life. They had some ancestry and some traditions in common, but ere Freca, they had shared no o'erlord. They had no unifying history. Without a nation, they had no pride in a national identity, and to them, honor was most oft about avenging personal grievances or feuding with the nearest clan.

To Captain Beleg and the soldiers who could hear their words, the Dunlendings sounded more like the Orcs who fought for fear of Sauron and his Nine than they themselves or other Men. The only motivations of Yrch save fear were cruelty, self-service, and survival. Yet the captain and some of his Men also perceived the pathos and their suffering. Still, they had work to do.

"What ye have learnt here we cannot allow to be passed on. We shall release ye from the fear, from the suffering, and from Wulf's service," Beleg said, and then he unsheathed his sword.

Behind him, ninety-six swords were drawn and the soldiers advanced. The Dunlendings did not try to run. Instead, they drew their own weapons and deemed themselves blessed. They would die in battle, not by the cold, hard hand of winter. In a handful of minutes, 'twas done.

Beleg himself slew the Man he had spoken to in a few strokes. In the aftermath, nineteen more lay dead in the bloodstained snow. Then, after cleaning his sword, the captain dragged the spokesman to the Dunlendings' burrow and lowered him inside. His soldiers followed his lead and removed the bodies to their den, including the pitiful remains of the butchered Man.

Afterwards there was 'naught more that they could do in that season. The piled corpses were frozen together and to the ground. The ground itself was frozen solid and could not be shoveled to fill in the den. The final interment would have to await the spring thaw and a loathsome task t'would be by then. The soldiers of Gondor returned to their barracks and warmed themselves by their fire. There was no celebration, for it felt like a victory to none.


Now at Súthburg in the Westfold, the month of Narwain continued past Yule with dwindling supplies and continued cold. Helm and Eadmundr could do 'naught but cut the rations again and hope they would last 'til mid-Nínui, yet already the wood pile was dangerously low even if winter broke as it had aforetime. On the 6th, Prince Háma came to his father after visiting the Glittering Caves to reassure the refugees.

"Father, our people suffer," he said, shaking his head sadly, "the children and elderly most of all. Already they have been on half-rations for a fortnight. I have seen parents forgo all but a mouthful to favor their young ones, and the old skip meals that their children and their children's children might eat twice a day. I fear we shall soon begin losing them."

"I know thy fear, my son, for I feel it too and it fairly breaks my heart that their king can do no better by them," Helm said. "Would that this season ends as it hath in years past, yet already it hath been the worst in my lifetime. I deem that a fell omen for what may betide."

"Is there 'naught that we can do? That I can do?"

"Were it only the winter, then parties of hunters might find deer in the foothills and mountain sheep higher on the slopes of Thrihyrne, but we are besieged. I can send none forth," Helm said.

"Yet if some might come past the enemy, even if in the depths of a storm, they might hunt and drop their prey into the deep, ne'er having to chance returning to the coomb," Háma said.

"Tis many an 'if', my son, and even were those hunters to win past the Dunlendings, their own fires would draw their foes. Such a party would be short-lived, I wager, and a kill might come but once in a week. They would needs consume what they slew just to survive the cold and little provision could they offer the people."

Though desperate, the prince could see his father's wisdom. E'er chancy, hunting in winter was hard enough whilst at peace. In time of war, all jeopardies were increased. And how much aid could the kills of one party of hunters truly offer to the thousands in Súthburg? In the end, he had to nod in agreement with his king.

"I am sorry, my son. Thy notion is born of hope, but we shall needs be more desperate still ere attempting 'aught so rash."

They broke from their council then and parted ways for a time, yet both contemplated the possibilities of seeking some satisfaction in a sortie beyond the walls, for to remain was to do 'naught and both the king and the prince were Men of action wholly dedicated to the welfare of their people.

By the second week of Narwain, all of the Dunlendings' horses were gone. Abrazân's Corsairs had shot and butchered the last in the night of the 11th. The 12th dawned with a blizzard, and neither Gebeor, nor Heardsælig came to check on the welfare of their Men that morn.

"What now, commander?" Magân asked. "Two days hence our people will again be starving. That last horse was little more than gristle 'neath its hide. What sustenance is there to find?"

"There is that which has surrounded us since the start," Abrazân replied with a grin, but he would say no more at that time.

That afternoon, he spent some while surveying the Dunlending camp. He knew whither they had dug their trenches and could still see the outlines of their pitiful tents 'neath their insulating feet of snow. From only a few now did columns of smoke rise, whilst the entrances of others had been buried and not dug free. They are half of them dead, he thought, and have no further need of their horses or 'aught else. In a couple more weeks, I wonder if any shall remain.

The snowfall abated on the 13th and a new coat of white lay on the ground a foot and a half deep. Abrazân greeted the morn and again checked for signs of life amongst his allies. In the afternoon, the winds blew the loose snow into drifts taller than a Man, but the commander's memory provided a map of the camp. He directed his Men to take the wood from those shelters whence smoke no longer rose. The dead need no firewood, he thought to himself.

In Súthburg that day, Prince Háma again took counsel with his father. This time, Second Marshal Eadmundr was also present, along with his son Fréaláf and his wife Lady Hild. A week had passed since their earlier talk of hunting parties sortieing from the fortress.

"My lords, it takes a whole cow to make a soup that shall feed the refugees for a day. Within a week, the last of the livestock shall be butchered," Háma began. "Thereafter, we shall have some bins of old potatoes, carrots, and turnips. There are three bushels of dried apples, a bushel of raisins, and there is flour for less than a fortnight's bread and groats for oatmeal for a like time. We have smoked hams, sausages, and jerky sufficient for a few more days. Even if we again cut the rations, come month's end, 'naught shall remain."

The report on their stores was simply depressing. After their food was expended, two more weeks would remain ere they could expect the winter to end. Even if the season turned timely, early spring was a season of dearth when plants had not yet sprouted and the few animals they could hunt were lean from the winter. Without a surplus, many could starve despite the weather having warmed. Fréaláf was next to speak.

"My lords, my report too is dire. Nine cords of wood remain, enough to heat the citadel and stables and to cook with for a fortnight, no longer."

"That we may amend more easily than the lack of food," Helm said. A glance exchanged with his brother-in-law brought a nod of agreement from the Second Marshal, (and a groan from Lady Hild), but gave the king leave of the lord of the keep to issue the orders they had discussed aforetime.

"The barracks are to be closed and shall no longer be heated. The Men are to bring their cots to the mess hall. It shall be crowded, but 'tis heated from the kitchens. Being directly above the stables, some heat shall seep through the floor to warm the horses as well."

"The great hall we shall no longer heat," Eadmundr said, "only this council chamber behind it. I deem we shall not receive any embassies from Stāningeard 'til spring." They chuckled at that.

By allowing the barracks and the great hall to go cold, they would save half the firewood consumed in the citadel and prolong the wood supply for cooking 'til the second week of Nínui. Besides, the great hall was large enough to allow at least a bit of exercise for their steeds. Still, the lack of food was a problem for which they had no simple answer.

"Father, again I suggest that hunting parties be sent forth 'neath cover of snowfall," Háma said after the others were gone and he was alone with Helm. "I know these lands and could find my way past the invaders. I would only need slip through the foothills 'round the eastern ridge whilst they cower in their shelters, whate'er few of them that have not already starved."

"My son, we both know that what sounds simple in speech may not be so in the dark of night, in a snowstorm, and in stealth whilst avoiding foes," Helm replied. "We have not yet come to the last of our food, or the end of our hope. The winter may break early as easily as late."

"It may, father, and I pray Béma it shall be so, but if we wait 'til our food is gone, some will surely perish ere a hunt provides meat. We would not be able to hunt ere the storm passes, at the very least."

"What thou say is true," Helm conceded, "yet I would have thee wait still. We know not when the next storm shall come and once gone, t'will be chancy to return after, or dost thou intend to remain in the highlands and hunt 'til spring? Many animals were taken in the fall and now, hunting is likely to be poor."

"Once free to hunt, I reckon to remain so, for no other source of food shall our people have," Háma said. "Ere any of them starve, is it not the place of the House of Eorl to do 'aught they can on their behalf?"

"'Tis so indeed, and knowing this, whether marshal or prince, thou hast the noble heart of a king. Still, I pray thee wait, nor would I be happy to see thee go, even if 'tis the last resort."

"T'would not be my first choice either, father, save that necessity may demand it of me. I have learnt of late that in war, many choices must be made and many chances taken even if they are not of our desire."

Helm nodded in agreement with his son.

"'Tis so in peace as well. We plan and we hope, but the world demands what it will, and 'tis the place of Men to set aside desire and meet those demands the best we can. We shall see what the coming days bring."

They set aside the topic of hunting then and determined to wait on the weather and such events as they could not foresee. But Prince Háma took to keeping watch on the enemy camp, marking whither smoke rose during the day and campfires burned at night, and in his mind's eye, mapping a route to the foothills.

On the 14th, Magân came to Abrazân after making a circuit of the Corsairs' shelters. No one had enjoyed 'aught to eat in going on three days. Stomachs grumbled and tempers shortened with the cold and hunger. At least they still had firewood.

"Commander, our people begin to starve, curse this land and its winter," he said.

Abrazân nodded, but made no reply at first. He sat in silence with an expression of deep contemplation on his face and Magân gave him his peace. In truth, the commander knew just what he would say. Instead, he was trying to decide how to broach the subject without revolting his adjutant. Yet there was historical precedent, 'twas just very old, a survival tactic not resorted to in many, many centuries. He realized that he would have to be persuasive.

"Aboard ship, we have ne'er been so hard pressed, for the sea provides for mariners who rely on their own will, as Men at sea must do," he began, and Magân nodded in agreement.

There were always fish to catch and no Man took to the sea save by his own will. Abrazân shook his head as if the present situation was unbelievable and then sighed in resignation, for here they were, starving in Rohan.

"There is lore of such privation suffered long ago when our ancestors campaigned on land," he said, and marked his adjutant's look of curiosity. "Great armies of Harad marched in Zigûrun's¹ host ere and after Ar-Pharazón's coming to the Hither Shores. In those days, to meet desperate want, they were at times forced to waste 'naught." ¹(Zigûrun, The Wizard aka Sauron = zigûr(wizard) + -un(masc. subj. suff.) Adûnaic)

"But what does this mean?" Magân asked, obviously still more curious than suspicious.

"It means that, despite their disgust, they did what Men have e'er been forced to do. They took their fate, their need to survive, into their own hands and lived. They took meat from those they deemed animals and ate of it, even if those animals walked upon two legs."

Now shock shaped Magân's features and incredulous, he asked, "Surely thou mean not that our ancestors ate the flesh of Men?"

"Indeed 'twas just so," Abrazân said mildly. "In my youth, my education included the reading of manuscripts many centuries old in the King's Library in the Citadel of Umbar. Amongst these were accounts going back to the founding of the city in the early Second Age." At the look of disbelief on his adjutant's face, the commander said, "Oh, not the original works, for those are penned in divers' scripts that none can now read and they remain at the palace in Alkarondas. Rather, I read copies of copies attributed to Counselor Dulganâlu who served at Lord Azûlzagar's court in the ninth century. They are treasures carefully preserved through all this time, even hidden during the sieges and occupations by our enemies, and may still be read."

"And…and these accounts tell of our ancestors consuming the bodies of Men they disparaged as animals?"

Abrazân met Magân's eyes and calmly nodded 'aye'.

"They did so rather than starve during several campaigns whilst encamped with Zigûrun's host in Dulguthâni¹." ¹(Dulguthâni, Black Land aka Mordor = dulgu(adj. black) + thâni(n. land/realm) Adûnaic)

"And now we are trapped and starving in this accursed Gimilthâni¹ and must look to animals on two legs for our survival?" Magân asked, for so snow-covered Rohan looked to him by moonlight. 'Twas a surprisingly poetic reference because the author could find no Adûnaic word for 'white'. ¹(Gimilthâni, Silver Land = gimil(adj. silver) + thâni(n. land/realm) Adûnaic)

"I deem us so, aye, but I shall not command that any do thus," Abrazân said, "instead, I shall lead by example and let hunger make my argument." He got up and walked off into the snow, leaving his adjutant staring after him and only half-believing that he would actually do it.

Magân followed Abrazân's progress as he went to a Dunlending shelter 'nigh the horse pickets that was only recently bereft of smoke from a fire. There he dragged a body from the shallow, covered trench and butchered it in the snow. 'Twas hard work as the body was frozen, but with many vicious and vigorous hacks with his sword he separated the limbs from the torso and carried them back.

Once returned to his own shelter, Abrazân hewed a thigh free of the lower leg and hid the remaining body parts in the snow. Then he brought the thigh into the shelter and set it to thaw in a pot of water o'er the fire. After the third part of an hour, 'twas slowly simmering.

Now after an hour had passed, the meat was thawed supple and the commander massaged it to force out the blood. When that was done, he took the thigh, skinned it, and cut out the bone. Then he spitted the meat and left it to roast o'er the open flames whilst he carried off the pot and dumped the bloodied water into the snow well away from his shelter.

At first, Magân was surprised. He had encountered a few burning bodies in the wreckage of war. The foul, acrid stench comprised of sizzling hair, bursting organs, boiling fluids, charred bone, and dirty, clothed flesh had been nose-wrinkling, a torment to the senses as much as the sensibilities. But here, the commander had cleaned and dressed the thigh and so 'twas only the scent of roasting meat that he smelt. On the spit, a lean, sixteen-pound roast turned, and though t'would be stringy from maturity and lack of fat, 'twas neither noxious, nor abhorrent.

After a few hours, the scent of the roast had progressed beyond tolerable to tantalizing and indeed several marines had gathered to discover the source of the scent that had wafted on the frigid air to whet their appetites. The commander had told them that 'twas roast Dunlending and then sliced off a thin morsel and popped it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed and then sliced off another and offered it to his adjutant.

Magân accepted the tidbit and after some initial apprehensiveness, chewed and found it more tender than horse. The flavor was better as well, most closely akin to young beef in his humble opinion. Meanwhile, the Men had regarded Abrazân's explanation with a range of reactions, from surprise, to disbelief, to laughter. With a gesture of his dagger, the commander bid them serve themselves. Not a one refused.

So 'twas that at opposite ends of Rohan, the enemy took to cannibalism in order to survive. But whilst in the east the Dunlendings perished in despite of their desperate solution, in the west, the Corsairs thrived. There was no lack of dead Dunlendings at the entrance to the coomb of Súthburg and their officers Gebeor and Heardsælig were oblivious. Those Dunlending soldiers still living were enfeebled by their suffering and cowered in their shelters, scarcely peeking out.

Strengthened by their diet, the Corsairs became even less sympathetic to the alliance with the Dunlendings. Their morale was raised by having solved through their own efforts, the challenge to their lives wrought by the accursed land of their hosts. Upon that land, they had no designs to take or hold territory. If 'aught, they only hoped to leave it as soon as could be.

For the Rohirrim they felt little, certainly not friendship, but scant animosity either. The Corsairs had ne'er had 'aught to do with them aforetime. They had no direct quarrel with them and were foes only because they were the foes of the Dunlendings and the allies of Gondor. In Gwirith, they had lost Men in the king's initial charge to Súthburg, but such happened in war. Thus far, the Horse Lords had ne'er opposed them in the south or joined in the invasions of the Gondorim against Umbar or Harad. Abrazân realized that he had seldom felt so little motivation to oppose a people in battle.

Thus far, they had seen no treasure worth the effort of taking in Rohan, and Wulf's people had first claim on it in any case. The hamlets and farms they had savaged 'twixt Isen and Súthburg had been poor by anyone's standards. 'Twas obvious that the Rohirrim had little save their land, their horses, and their pride. The land the Corsairs abhorred, the horses they valued not save as a second choice for food, and the Rohirrim were welcome to their pride, silly and misplaced as it seemed to the Men of the south.

As commander, Abrazân was loath to spend any more Southron blood for the sake of Wulf's campaign. He realized that he would just as soon gouge Heardsælig or Gebeor with his dagger as collaborate with them. They disgusted him, allowing so many of their troops to perish. Their poor tactics and inept yearning for conquest had well 'nigh gotten him and his Men killed. They should have either brought a wealth of supplies or withdrawn home to Dunland in the autumn, the morons, he thought. Not for 'naught are the warm months called the campaigning season.

The Corsair Marine resolved to endure Rohan 'til spring and then depart, with orders from his admiral or no. He would save the lives of his Men, as a proper commander should.

In the closest commandeered homestead, which lay a mile beyond the mouth of the coomb, Heardsælig, Gebeor, and their officers shivered and burnt the wood from the farm's fences to stave off the cold. They had managed to survive thus far by hunting down and killing random farm animals that they found wandering what had once been familiar fields and pastures. With their Men, they shared 'naught. For the past week, they had left the soldiers occupying the coomb up to the dike to fend for themselves.

On 19 Narwain, the last cow in Súthburg was butchered and rendered into soup. That evening, when he questioned the quartermaster of the citadel Prince Háma was informed that only five days' at four tenths' rations remained. Thereafter, the people would go hungry. Háma thanked the Man and sought his father.

"Father, the time foreseen has come," the prince said. "After tonight, there are only five days' food remaining. Thereafter, our people shall starve."

Helm shook his head and his sorrow was writ plain on his face. The day he had put off was come at last and there was no longer any sound cause to stay his son from taking up a desperate hunt.

"Thou must still await the cover of a storm, my son, and the sky is clear," was all he could offer.

"This eve I saw sundogs and this night a ring encircles the moon. Thou knows the old saying, father; 'a ring 'round the moon means a storm comes soon'."

Helm nodded 'aye'; the old wisdom was well known in Rohan.

"How many shalt thou take?" he asked.

"A dozen," Háma said. "More bows for the hunt and fewer mouths to feed in the citadel."

Helm nodded. His son's intentions he could no longer gainsay.

"Take as many arrows as ye can carry and your axes and swords, but leave your shields behind," he said, "and bring spears for half the hunters. Ye may find boars in the valleys."

Háma nodded, accepting his father's wisdom.

"Would that I could be a common father only and not a king," Helm said. "I would go with thee."

"And I would be happy to be a commoner's son rather than a prince if thou wast my sire," Háma replied. Second son though he was, he had ne'er felt the less for it in his father's eyes.

"I shall pray Béma for thy safe-keeping and for thy success in the hunt."

"Thank you, father. I shall pray for thy victory and the safety of our people."

Háma knelt and kissed the ring of marriage on his father's finger. Helm laid his hand upon his son's head and with tears in his eyes, offered what blessing he could. Then they parted.

By the second hour ere midnight, the moon was hid by thickening clouds. By the first hour past midnight, the air was swirling with heavy snow and not even the dike two furlongs from the gate could be seen clearly. Háma and eleven volunteers slipped from the postern door beside the gates, slid down the rocky spur behind the causeway, and carefully made their way from the fortress. They disappeared into the storm and came ne'er to Súthburg again.


Author's Note: In this chapter, the Gondorim at the Amon Anwar barracks are using the months of the Steward's Reckoning calendar with Quenya month names whilst the Rohirrim are using the Sindarin month names. Cerm = Cerveth, Úrimë = Urui, Yavannië = Ivanneth, Yáviérë is the Autumnal Equinox (September 21st), Narquelië = Narbeleth, Hísimë = Hithui, Ringarë = Girithron, Mettarë is December 20th, Yestarë is the Winter Solstice (December 21st), and Narvinyë = Narwain.

To Be Continued